Coffee shop on the corner
by DaughterofNeptune313
Summary: Sam Winchester from an outsiders point of view.


***Hesitantly peeks into the Supernatural fandom* *waves* uh...hi. This is my first attempt at an SPN fanfic, so please bear with me. **

**Anyway, **

**Hello! So, I know I should be working on my other fanfic, but this plot bunny attacked me at TWO IN THE MORNING, and I had no way to defend myself, so I had no choice but to write it and give it to my fellow readers. **

**...**

The coffee shop on the corner was empty on the gray, chilly April morning.

Empty, save one person, who sat in the back of the shop, gripping her cup of cappuccino as if her life depended on it.

Which may as well have been true, considering the unholy hour (otherwise known as Six twenty three a.m.). The girl's features were quite frankly, unremarkable. And dressed in a loose, light purple sweater, black jeans and a pair of boots, there was nothing about her that attracted the eye.

The mess before her, however, might have raised a few eyebrows. Spread out over the small circular table was a collection of paper. Some typed out, some in a slanted, messy, nigh on unreadable handwriting.

A pen sat beside the young woman's cup, waiting to be grasped by a slender right hand. She lifted the cup, amber eyes scanning lines of a story known only to her, and took a large gulp from it, relishing the warmth that spread through her.

Coffee always made everything better.

She set the delicious brew aside and uncapped her pen, setting it to the blank page before her. The pen didn't move. Perhaps getting up this early hadn't been the wisest decision.

Just as she was about to give up and trade it for the coffee (again), the door to the little shop opened, the silver bell on the inside handle jingling lightly. The dark haired girl pushed up her glasses that had slowly been sliding down her nose for the past few minutes to see the new arrival clearly.

She knew every person that came into this place. She knew what they ordered, and what day they would get it.

Mr. Brunner would get a small black coffee, with a blueberry muffin, Mrs. Jadren, a large skinny caramel machiatto. Ms. Andrews, who wasn't quite as ancient as everyone else, a medium white mocha, no whipped cream, one extra shot of espresso, and a bagel.

She knew what time they would come in, every day. She knew how every person greeted Mr. and Mrs. Williams, the owners of the shop. How? Apparently old people are very repetitive, and never want to risk trying something new. And in this town, most people were old, Everyone knew pretty much everyone, and nothing interesting ever happened.

The young woman in the corner thought this particular morning would be no different (Mr. Flanagan was seven minutes early though. Which was odd, she noted.)

She was wrong.

The person who stepped through the door was most definitely not the gray bearded, slowly balding, roly poly of a man that was Flanagan.

The first word that sprang to the mind of the startled nineteen year old, was, "Tall." But that was only the beginning. Yes the stranger was rather tall, reaching to at least six four, but there was something about him. Something that the young women couldn't place, yet it was strangely familiar.

Looking to be in his early twenties, barely out of college, he was attractive, to be sure, So much so that most girls her age would be beside themselves with longing by now. She watched as he went to the counter.

She could only see his side profile now, taking note of the worn jeans, the sturdy boots, the maroon shirt, the heavy black jacket that looked like it had seen better days, the backpack that was slung over his shoulder, and finally, the brown hair that reached just past his ears.

She listened as he greeted Mrs. Williams. "Good morning, nice weather we're having huh?" There was a small whisper of irony in his tone. In the girl's opinion, it was a wonderful morning, though she supposed, gray, cold, rainy morning's probably weren't pleasant to most people.

The stranger ordered a medium coffee, then went to add cream and sugar. She was slightly disappointed that the place to do so was in the opposite direction. After a moment, he turned.

Looking up from his cup as he walked toward the door, he gave the room a once over, and for only a split second, locked eyes with her. In that moment, she realized why he seemed familiar.

The nineteen year old loved to read, and she had seen many, many heroes leap off the pages of her books and speak their words of profound meaning, watched them fight against evil, heard their darkest secrets.

But she had always been fascinated by the way each and every hero always had something about their eyes, something that drew you in, something that, when others in the book saw them, knew.

The man across the room had that aura. He had eyes that told stories that no one could ever understand.

He was something that, only seconds before, The girl had only believed to be in books. The stranger offered a smile in her direction, and those eyes gleamed, as though he knew something she didn't.

He glanced down at the pile of paper in front of her and the smile grew wider. "Good luck with the writing."

Then he turned, opened the door, that silver bell jingling lightly once more, and the most interesting person ever to grace the coffee shop with their presence, was gone.

Outside, Sam Winchester smiled at the thought of the teenager-soon-to-be-author that had caught his gaze. He wondered what she was writing. Wondered if he would ever read what had been piled upon that small little table in the back.

Inside, the girl picked up her pen once more. Setting it to the page, she began to write.

The coffee shop on the corner remained the same.

The nineteen year old inside, however, was not.

...

**There you go! Hope you enjoyed it! Feel free to drop in a review if you like.**

**D. **


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